Wake the Folk Up!

This phrase was worn on a ratty old t-shirt by a man who has been struck by lightning twice (and now walks barefoot!). I told him years ago that someday I’m going to make shirts with this phrase on it – or at least one for myself – and wear it proudly. Happy to see this pic online: Image result for wake the folk up

This post is a letter of awakening. A coming out of the dark, isolated closet of self-censorship. I have done all the damn learning I can do. I’m ready. I’ve been ready all along but I didn’t believe it strongly enough. Now I just don’t care who gets what I get. I don’t need anyone’s validation or resonance with my ideas. And yet I know there are so many resonant beautiful people rising up, strangers next to me. No doubt.

Self-censorship is death. And when we don’t trust ourselves to speak our truth without hurting another — and putting ourselves in the constant dilemma of hurting them with our words or hurting us with yet another bite to the tongue, we choose self-censorship. So, write down the pain. Get it out and look at it. Then promise to learn from that the next time you get abused by their ignorance. Show it to them gently, with love and hope for their awakening.

At the same time…

Alisa Garza (I believe) at the 2018 history-making Women’s March, said that white women need to become ready, black and brown women need to be ready, and first nation women need to stay ready.

As a white women I see far too many of my likeness still entranced by the fallacy of the patriarchy, which I now understand to be the essence of ownership (business, capitalism, whatever). We find emotional numbing comfort in its structure and do our best to rationalize or repress the truths that, perhaps, only show themselves with some degree of intensity once a month… It’s too hard to swim upstream. We may even think that we are called to make yet more fucking change from within — to get in there really deep and shine light on its dark side and ugly underbelly. Just stop.

I have and repeatedly continue to made this emotion-numbing mistake by virtue of — now, finally after years of protesting corporate life — being employed again (it’s a worker owned cooperative). I struggle to stay awake, active, passionate about my sisters on the front lines. I grew up with deep trauma, isolation, food stamps, etc. and am not capable of keeping one foot in both worlds — I’m either on the front lines and poor or I’m praying from the comfort of my balanced checkbook.

And yet…

All I want to do is Shine Light on the Truth.